


Living the Legend

by tvconnoisseur



Category: Gallagher Girls Series - Ally Carter
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tvconnoisseur/pseuds/tvconnoisseur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Macey McHenry is never, ever going into politics.  Figuring out what she <i>actually</i> wants to do proves to be much more difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living the Legend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellabell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellabell/gifts).



> Happiest of all happy Yuletides! I was really excited to get this prompt because I absolutely adore Macey and all of her snarky, headstrong perfection and was eager to figure out what her journey post-Gallagher would be. She has so many more challenges than the rest of the group and still is, in many ways, an outsider, so it was interesting trying to figure out how she would navigate those roadblocks. It got a little bit angsty along the way (but it’s Macey, so how could it not?), but I hope you enjoy the journey!

Macey McHenry is never, _ever_ going into politics. To clarify, it’s not because she couldn’t win. Please. If she ran for office, her victory would redefine the word landslide. Malia Obama would sell Bo on the black market to get Macey McHenry’s approval rating. (To be fair, almost getting kidnapped during a presidential election gets her major sympathy points.) So no, the reason Macey is never going into politics is not because she couldn’t win. It’s because she doesn’t _want_ to.

The first time she considered this ultimatum was when she eight and Bobby Wiener stuck his wet finger in her ear and told her that her dad was the reason his dad didn’t have a job anymore.  Macey had promptly kneed him in the groin and then punched him in the face, but the words had stuck in her head: because her dad had voted yay or nay on some stupid bs, Bobby's dad had lost his job. Oh, she was sure that wasn’t a direct correlation—no bill is entitled, “Fire Bobby Weiner’s Dad”—but the fact that people _believed_ that that was basically the case was bad enough.

The second time she considered—and this time, irrevocably decided—that she would never be politician was when her dad ran for VP.  Sure there was the whole Circle of Cavan thing, but the worst part was that she could never be the real her.  Everyone knew her face, but, worst of all, they thought they knew her soul.  They thought they knew Macey McHenry.  They thought that they understood her pearls and cardigans, her white teeth and campaign mottos, her girly professions in a one-pager in _Seventeen_ (which, even though it didn’t have to be, was full of lies: her favorite food is _not_ her dad’s lasagna, nor is her celebrity crush Channing Tatum).  They looked at her like they _knew_ her and Macey had never felt so stifled in her entire life.  So no, she’s never going to voluntarily commit herself to a lifetime of that ever again.

Which is sort of unfortunate, because when it comes to careers, for the majority of her life, Macey has only had a few options:

(1)   Become a politician or government official. Not happening. See above.

(2)   Take over her mom’s company. She’s not even going to justify that with more than a _hell to the no._

(3)   Take up a variety of almost-careers: model, CNN correspondent, water spokesperson. Which all sound a-step-above- _Dancing-with-the-Stars_ vom-worthy, but no one is going to tell Macey McHenry what she can or cannot eat, from where she can or cannot report, or what she can or cannot drink.

She doesn’t want to be her mom or her dad or Bristol Palin, but even though she fought against her fate by getting kicked out of every prep school she stepped foot in, she had never really anticipated victory.  One day she’d wear a silk blouse or dance shoes and it would all be over—the hope of being the real Macey McHenry, a Macey McHenry she could be proud of, would be gone.

That all changed when she started at the Gallagher Academy.  Finally, for the first time in her life, she felt like she had a home.  Sure, she was behind her classmates, but Macey honestly believed that if she studied hard enough, proved that she belonged enough, she would be able to be a Gallagher Girl just like the rest of them.  She could fly off to exotic locales and infiltrate terrorist organizations and take down the bad guys with her very best—okay, _only_ —friends at her side.

So she does whatever it takes.  She studies hard, until her ribs are bruised and her tongue is twisted by every dialect of Chinese, until her mind is burning with equations and etiquette.  She works until she can look at the paintings of Gilly and think, _Maybe, one day, that’ll be me.  Maybe I’ll be a great-grand-whatever she can be proud of._

***

After the Circle is taken down, things become clearer.  Cammie and Bex are offered positions with the CIA and MI-6, respectively, but all Macey is handed are acceptance letters from all the Ivies.  She almost rips her acceptance letter from Princeton in half before she marches down to Headmistress Morgan’s office because she’ll be damned if she spends the next four years in a classroom while her friends are actually _saving the world_.

Her fist is poised to slam repeatedly into the Headmistress’ door when a voice calls out from behind her.  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Macey spins around.  “Why not?”

“Because,” Abby says, “It won’t do any good.”  Of course it’s Abby.  Abby’s always the one standing in her way, whether that’s between Macey and the real world or Macey and a bullet.

“The hell it won’t do any good,” Macey snaps.  “I am not going to be some stuck-up trust fund brat who leans against her grandfather’s name on the plaque of trustees while she sticks her nose up at the wannabes with Coach purses and need-based scholarships. I am going to be a spy.  I _am_ a spy.”

Abby crosses her arms over her chest, eyes unblinking.  “No, you’re not.”

Macey’s eyes flash.  “What do you mean, _no, I’m not_?  I’m a Gallagher Girl.  I’m _the_ Gallagher Girl.  I have worked my ass off and I am just as qualified as the rest of them, so don’t you dare even try to make it like I’m still some prissy prep school drop-out.”  The moment the words come out, she wonders if they’re true.  Maybe she didn’t work hard enough after all.  Maybe this was the one part of her life where her DNA wasn’t going to give her everything she wanted.  The only thing she’d ever tried for, the only thing she had nearly killed herself trying to get (literally), had found her wanting.

“I’m not trying to make it sound like that at all,” Abby says evenly, cutting through Macey’s insecurities.  “I know you, Macey.  I know what you’re capable of.  I know that you could make an _excellent_ spy.  But it’s not about how good you _could_ be.  It’s about who you _have_ to be.”

“And I _have_ to be a spy.”

“No, you _have_ to be Macey McHenry.”  Abby’s gaze is kind, but unyielding.  “Macey, there’s a reason you didn’t start here in seventh grade with all the other students.  It’s because you were _never_ meant to be a spy.”

The words smack Macey in the chest.  Of course.  How could she be so stupid?  She was never going to be a spy, no matter what her grade in quantum theory was.  All this entire exercise had been was a way for Macey to get her high school diploma and get her back on track, nothing more.

Abby’s words continue to wash over Macey.  “You’re too recognizable to be a true spy.  Yes, you were allowed on missions here, but only with the best back-up and you were never used as a first line or as bait.  The Agency might call on you for missions from time to time, but your primary life is to live as Macey McHenry, heiress and senator’s daughter.”  Abby takes a step closer to her.  “Even if marks abroad didn’t recognize you, the average American would notice if you went off-track or disappeared or, God forbid, died.  They would ask questions and you know that the moment people start asking questions, things get complicated.”

Abby touches Macey’s shoulder, but Macey flinches away.  Abby looks at her sadly.  “It’s not a bad thing, you know.  You get to live a normal life.  Go to college, have a career, have a family, _tell the truth_.”  Her lips almost smile.  “It’s a life sentence, not a death sentence.”

Macey doesn’t say anything.  She just turns on her heel and goes back to her room and gets into the shower before her roommates can ask her what’s wrong.  The water is ice cold as she cries soundlessly.  She can’t feel anything except the brushes of warmth against her face as her tears land over and over and over.

When it comes time to make a choice, much to her dad’s chagrin, she picks Harvard over Yale. She’s not terribly attached to crimson, but she needs some control over her life.

***

She sees Liz the most. Not that that’s really a surprise.  Cammie and Bex are off spying and while Liz could have just gone straight into the intelligence desk game, she, more than any of them, wants to live a normal life. She enrolls at MIT and dates boys who can almost out-hack her (she lets them win sometimes, just to keep the game fresh) and kicks ass at beer pong and designs all sorts of spy tech with her advisor, a Gallagher graduate.

They meet in the North End for cannolis or Cambridge for cobblestone walks.  They meet at least once a week, although they met more often at the beginning when both of them constantly felt their covers slipping and needed someone real to talk to.  The only difference, a semester and a half in, is that Liz actually found her place in the real world (complete with a real, live boyfriend), while Macey still ignores her roommate and barely ever attends class other than for finals. (Please, she already mastered multi-variable calculus junior year.  She’s not going to class to re-learn limits.)

One afternoon in April, Liz is cutting her lobster roll in half and yammering as she is ought to do.  “Brian says that I can come on his family trip to Michigan this summer, but I’m so worried about meeting his parents.  I’m sure they’ll like me well enough, but what if they don’t _love_ me?  What if they think I talk too much or I’m not good enough or—”

“What do you think Cam and Bex are up to?” Macey asks.  It’s been five weeks since the last update.  Cam was in Istanbul, Bex in Colombia.

Liz purses her lips.  “The usual, I’m sure.  If something had gone wrong, the Agency would have let us know.”  She looks worried for a second, but then nods.  “Yeah, they would totally let us know.”

Macey pokes her French fry into her pool of vinegar.  “Do you ever think about what it would be like if that were us instead of them? If we were the ones in the field?”

Liz shrugs. “Not really. I don’t really have any desire to be shot at or deceive people to the point where I don’t even know who I am anymore.” She’s not being judgmental; she’s just stating facts.  “I mean, I’ve been talking to Neha about pursuing my Ph.D. and maybe becoming a professor, and I _never_ thought that that was something I could do coming out of Gallagher.  We have _options_ , Macey, not orders.  It’s kind of liberating.”

As she takes a bite of her over-soaked French fry, Macey wonders why, if this life is supposed to be so liberating, that she constantly feels like she’s being buried alive.

***

Freshmen year she’d get encrypted postcards and emails almost monthly from either Cammie or Bex or both. Unscramble them and she’d reveal missions in France, Sudan, Argentina—list a country and they had been there. She’d relished each of those communiques and each time she found it harder and harder to destroy them after reading them.

By sophomore year, she’s lucky to get one a semester. She asks Liz if she’s heard from them and Liz shakes her head no but doesn’t join into the bitchfest Macey tries to start.  “They’re busy,” Liz says.  “It’s not like we’re not busy, too.  We have totally new, totally awesome lives.  I’m sure they’re jealous.”

To that, Macey nods as if she doesn’t spend all her time in the gym working on her roundhouse kick or the computer lab working on her hacking.

By the beginning of junior year, it’s been six months since she’s heard from Cammie and ten since she’s heard from Bex.  Contrary to the way Liz tries to calm her down each time she asks, Macey isn’t _worried_ about them.  She’s _angry_ at them.

Yeah, there’s the whole part of it where they’re living her dream.  They get to be spies and they are secretly maintaining world peace and they can use their highly-trained memories to get passcodes to secret bunkers, not to break onto the rooftop where Macey and Cammie almost got kidnapped years ago.  Some nights Macey just stands up there, the bitter Boston cold whipping at her face, and resists the urge to cry.

But the real reason she’s mad?  She’s mad because they were her friends and they ditched her.  Macey knows about disappointing people and the ever-distancing look in their eyes as they drift further and further from you.  (Thanks, Mom.)  So, yeah, she gets being left behind.  But it doesn’t mean she’s okay with it.

Specifically, without putting too much of an emphasis on it, Cammie is—yeah, even now, she still is—her best friend.  Before anyone objects and insists that Cammie’s best friend is Bex, Macey knows that.  Back at Gallagher Academy, Macey didn’t care if she cared more about Cammie than Cammie cared about her, because that wasn’t the point.  The point was that Cammie was the one who really saw her. She saw past the bluster and trusted her—believed in her.  She was the only one who came to support her on the campaign trail.  She was the one who helped her wash and clothe herself after being attacked in Boston.  Put it all together, and damn right, Cammie is her best friend.

Macey should have learned the lesson from her mother:  if you’re not loved the most, you’ll eventually be forgotten.

***

Contrary to what _Us Weekly_ , her mother, and Preston Winters may think, Macey McHenry is _not_ dating Preston Winters.

They might hook up after each Harvard-Yale game (they have an unspoken agreement that the one whose school wins buys drinks for the other one until said other one is smashed to pieces) and sometimes when their families vacation together and, okay, she was really lonely that one weekend and convinced him to take a train up to Boston, but they’re _not_ dating.

Their senior year, Yale wins the game and Macey throws back so many tequila shots that she could swear she is _in_ Mexico. They stumble back to her room, his lips on hers and then on her neck while he delicately unbuttons each button. (Preston Winters might have loosened up a little bit since high school, but he’s not going to rip apart a good silk Valentino shirt.)

She throws him onto her bed and gets on top of him. His mouth tastes sour like limes and her mouth puckers against them. Her fingers fumble with his belt and she hates being a girl who needs to stare at a guy’s crotch to undo his pants but she is _so hammered_ that her fingers keep slipping.

Preston grabs her gently by the forearms and rolls over, pinning her to the bed. She makes a sharp noise and tilts her head up to kiss him again, but he pulls away.

Macey opens her eyes and Preston has a strange look on his face. “Come on, Winters,” Macey groans. “In me. Now.”

 Instead of obeying orders, he just continues to look at her, lips curled downward. Finally, after a moment, he speaks. “Are you happy, Mace?”

Instantly, Macey starts crying. It’s not the delicate, manipulative crying that she’s perfected over the years. It’s no-holds-barred ugly crying, the sort where her entire chest is heaving and her snot is dripping and she just wants to leave but her body is convulsing and she can’t.

It takes her about half a cup of snot before she realizes why the hell she’s crying. She can’t remember the last time someone’s asked her if she’s happy. Certainly not her parents and unfortunately not Liz either (the closer Liz has gotten to Brian, the less she returns Macey’s calls).  Macey didn’t even realize she was so completely _un_ happy until it was even a question.  Maybe her cover of bored, antisocial heiress had tricked even herself.

She wants Preston to leave her alone, but instead he wraps her in his arms and she hates how good it feels, her head on his chest and his hands around her body. He doesn’t say anything, he just holds her.  He kisses her bare shoulder and strokes her hair and, most importantly, he doesn’t run away.

He doesn’t need to because she does.  She wakes up at five in the morning and hides out until she watches Preston’s fellow Yalies pile themselves into his car the next afternoon.  Preston performs a diligent 360, but he doesn’t see her.  So he gets into his car and drives off and Macey hugs herself tightly and tries not to remember how much better it felt when Preston was doing the holding instead of her.

***

After graduation, her dad gets her a job as a White House intern.  Four  months in, she gets a call from the Agency and a request to schmooze with (read: liquor up) an ambassador’s assistant and she’s so excited that it’s not until she submits the relevant report on the ambassador’s “vacation” in Pakistan that she realizes that her mission is already over.

Worst of all, she realizes that these are the only kinds of missions she will have to look forward to for the rest of her life.  Flirting and liquor and the whole time she’s Macey McHenry.  She will never be anything but Macey McHenry.  God, she hates Macey McHenry more than anyone else in the world.

A few months later, she’s at the White House holiday party.  She’s wearing Lanvin and is so busy avoiding Preston that she runs into a woman in a plunging red dress.  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she says, trying to right the woman up by the shoulders.  Suddenly Macey takes in her face and almost faints. The nose and hair are different and the dress so revealing it almost seems impossible, but it couldn’t be anyone else.  “ _Cam_?”

Cammie’s mouth drops open, but she quickly recovers her cover.  She kisses Macey twice on each cheek and lets out a glittering, un-Cammie laugh.  “How are you, darling?” she asks in Greek.

Macey’s Greek is a little rusty, but she’s not about to blow this for Cammie—or, in reality, for herself.  It’s the first time she’s seem Cammie since _high school graduation_ and she’s not going to let her go easily.  “I’m fine.  Is Greek—”

“It’s safe.  It’s part of my cover.”  Cammie looks at Macey intently and a smile instantly spreads across her face.  “Gosh, Macey, I’ve missed you so much.  I’m sorry that we haven’t gotten to see each other in forever.  I swear I meant to send you a note or get together, but you know how things are in this business.  The clean-up from taking down the Circle in particular has been a bit of a challenge.”  Cammie says ‘challenge’, but her tone says ‘adventure’ and Macey is instantly jealous.  “How have you been? What are you up to?”

Macey tries to think if there’s a way to sugarcoat her boring life, but quickly realizes there’s not, so she just gets it out quickly.  “Nothing much.  I’m working here.  At the White House.  Still avoiding Preston,” she adds, gesturing across the room to the almost-first-son.

Cammie laughs.  “Some things never change.”

 _And some things change in ways you can never fix_ , Macey thinks.  But instead of saying that, she just asks the obvious:  “What’s the mission?”

Something flickers across Cammie’s face.  “Just taking care of some loose ends,” Cammie says with finality.  She forces a smile back on her face.  “But, I have to tell you something way more important before I have to get back to business.”  Cammie glows.  “Zach and I are getting married.”

Macey thinks she’s kidding, that it’s part of her cover, but then she looks into Cammie’s eyes and realizes it’s completely, 100% true.  Cammie holds up her left hand sheepishly, which has a simple silver band on it.  “We’ll probably have a really casual ceremony the next time we both have a moment free, which is God-knows-when, but whenever it is, you have to come, Macey.  Promise?”

Macey doesn’t know what to say.  She remembers one night during their senior year when she held Cammie in her arms as Cammie cried over her mom and really-dead-this-time dad and how she didn’t know if she could do it, she didn’t know if she could be her mom and experience a thousand tiny heartbreaks after each late check-in and a half-dozen soul-shattering ones after each presumed—and sometimes real—death.  Macey had told her that Cammie and Zach would find a way, that true love always finds a way, but Macey wasn’t an idiot.  Spies don’t generally get the happily-ever-after.

Abby said that by not being a spy, Macey would get to have it all.  What bullshit.  Cammie gets to be a spy and gets the guy and Macey just gets to get coffee and the occasional dry-cleaning request.

Macey has a monologue ready for Cammie all about how life is unfair and how Cammie has sucked at being a friend and how that really is a hideous ring, but Cammie suddenly has a distant look in her eyes and Macey knows she doesn’t have time to bitch.  “I promise,” Macey says.  “Anytime, anywhere.”

Cammie gives her a giant hug.  “I’ve missed you so much.”  And just like that, the Chameleon is gone.

The next day, the body of Eloise Dubois, current French deputy minister and allegedly still-current Circle of Cavan member, is found in the Potomac.  Macey remembers the way Cammie’s face darkened and wonders how much of Cammie, the real Cammie, has had to change over the past four and a half years for the sake of being a spy.

***

After the encounter with Cammie, Macey feels adrift.  She does the bare minimum at her job to stay employed and goes straight home from work instead of going to krav maga and actually listens to the message that the producers of _Celebrity Apprentice_ leave on her phone.  (Maybe she ruled out pseudo-career too quickly.)

She almost calls Liz a dozen times and actually drunk texts Preston once (thankfully, by the time he sent a concerned text back, she was already passed out and well on her way to waking up sober and completely mortified).

Her dad, during their scheduled bi-weekly check-in, says she sounds distracted.  “I’m fine, Dad.  I’m just tired.”

“The internship is going well?” he asks and Macey makes some confirming-sounding noise.

There’s a beat of static on the phone and then her dad continues, “You know, just because I got you that job doesn’t mean you need to do it.  I want you to do what makes you happy.”

A hard knot forms in her throat.  “I’m fine, Dad.”

“I know, I’m being annoying and you can take care of yourself,” her father says, reading between the lines.  Sometimes Macey forgets that her father is not her mother and while he can be detached at times, he still loves her, faults and all.  “But I was your age once and while I’m sure you don’t want to hear that story, I can tell you that figuring out what I wanted to do with my life wasn’t easy.  It was something I found on the road we call life.  Don’t be afraid of dreaming big and taking a few detours.  Unless they’re illegal.  I still have an election to think about.”

Macey laughs and she thinks about how much she’s changed since she was seventeen and a reluctant almost-vice-president’s daughter.  She remembers feeling stifled by what she was supposed to be, that perfect image complete with pearls.  She thinks it’s almost funnier that now she’s stifled by who she actually is: a girl who has the skills and name to do almost anything but doesn’t know what that anything is anymore.

If being a somebody with a destiny was tiring, being a nobody without one is almost more exhausting.

She hears her fellow interns talk about their dreams of law school and speechwriting and campaign managing and the only thing that ever finds its way onto the tip of her tongue is the one dream she ever had that now tastes of decomposing flesh.

Despite her fuzzy life direction, Macey’s gotten into the habit of getting everyone, even interns, coffee in the morning.  It’s such a small, stupid gesture, but the light in their eyes after seeing her bearing stacked lattes is the only thing keeping her going right now.

Macey makes her regular order and sits at an empty table while she waits for them to fill it.  She answers emails on her phone as the barista slowly finishes each cup.  She’s not really paying attention, but suddenly her back tenses and her hand flies out, twisting the intruder’s hand backwards.

“Good to see your instincts are still top-notch,” Abby says with a grin.  “Want to let go now?”

Macey drops her mentor’s hand.  “Sorry about that.”

Abby shakes her head.  “Don’t worry about it.  I’m glad you can take care of yourself.”  Her mouth twitches.  “I was worried about you.”

“Me?” Macey asks, surprised.  There are terrorist cells out there and Abigail Cameron is worried about ~~poor~~ rich little Macey?  “Why?”

“Because this”—Abby gestures all around Macey’s person—“needs to figure itself out.”

Great.  Instead of overthrowing dictators, Abby is concerning herself with Macey McHenry’s existential crisis.  “I’m fine, Abby.”

Abby tilts her head.  “Uh huh, sure you are.  And I’m the Duchess of Cambridge.”  Abby smiles.  “Well, not this week.  So come on, girl.  Spill.”

Macey sighs.  “I just feel…helpless.  I don’t know what I want to do with my life.  I mean, I thought I did.  Even if it wasn’t a possibility, I thought I knew what would make me happy.”

“And what is that?” Abby asks.

“All I wanted my entire life was to be anyone _other_ than Macey McHenry.  I guess that’s the reason I wanted to be a spy so badly: my entire life would be about _not_ being Macey McHenry.  But that’s not really it.  It’s not that I didn’t want to be Macey McHenry.  It’s that I’ve never wanted to be anyone but myself.”  Macey sighs.  “I didn’t want to be _her_ anymore.  I wanted to be _me_.  My entire life was my mom or some handler or even me using my legend to create the perfect cover, whether that was fashion-forward heiress or cardigan-ed campaigner.  So to hell with wanting to be a spy—I’ve already spent my entire life undercover.”

Abby nods.  “So if you’re okay with being you, what’s the hold up in making your way in the world?”

Macey frowns.  “I may not be who it takes or”—Cammie’s changed face flashes again in her mind—“ _have_ what it takes to be a spy. But I hate thinking that I’m never going to be the one who changes the world.”

“Who says spies are the only ones who get to change the world?”  Abby looks at Macey intently.  “Change isn’t just something that’s done in dark alleys in Germany.  Sometimes it’s done in the light of day.  And that change—the kind that’s visible for everyone to see—that’s the kind that really sticks.”

Abby stands and leans over to give Macey a hug.  “You have always been destined for great things, Macey McHenry.  I think it’s time that you stopped fighting it.”

With that, Abby slips away into the morning crowd forming at the doorway.  Even after she disappears, Macey can still feel the spy’s eyes on her, waiting for her next move.

For the first time since she was at the Gallagher Academy, Macey isn’t afraid of her future.

***

When Macey McHenry is twenty-seven, she runs for the House of Representatives and _wins_.  (Told you so.)  What’s even better than just winning is the fact that she did it by only telling the truth.  Her platform was based on transparency, so she didn’t promise anything she wasn't sure she could keep and she didn’t wear pearls and she finally admitted to the world that her favorite food is the risotto from Per Se and her real celebrity crush is Joseph Gordon Levitt.  She was the real Macey McHenry and she won in a landslide.

As she launches into her acceptance speech, she remembers another speech from long ago.  She remembers talking about sticking together and the people who knew the real her and she remembers looking out in the crowd for her friends and finally finding them and believing that she could do anything if they had her back.  They could change the world.

So she looks out into the crowd, past the blinding lights and the screaming interns and smug-faced donors and there they are.  Cammie is whistling, Bex is hollering, Liz is clapping like a lunatic, and Abby is smiling like she’s never been prouder of anyone in her life.

As confetti falls from the ceiling, Macey McHenry can't help but think that being just Macey McHenry might not be the worst thing in the world.  In fact, it might be the most kick-ass legend anyone could ever ask for.


End file.
